Almost Broken
by cactusnell
Summary: Sherlock goes a bit too far with Molly. Can he fix this? Sherlolly


The morgue at St. Bart's Hospital was silent as a tomb, which was actually fitting considering its occupants. The buzz of the bone saw had ceased a while ago, and Dr. Molly Hooper stood silently stitching up the chest of a six year old girl, tears beginning to pool in the bottom of her surgical goggles. Molly had good days and bad days in the morgue, and today was definitely one of the worst. She often got through her day by having one way conversations with her patients, offering small comments on a life well lived, or the welcome release of death. But there were no words of comfort she could think to speak to the child on the table before her, or her two younger brothers who rested nearby, victims of unspeakable abuse and neglect at the hands of those who should have cared most. Dr. Hooper loved children, had always hoped to have kids of her own, and to see how easily some people disposed of them broke her heart. When she had tucked all three away in their icy beds, she went into her office, put her head on her desk and sobbed.

So today was not the day that she wished to hear from the egocentric, brusque, arrogant, and selfish consulting detective Sherlock Holmes, despite the fact that he had for years been the object of her affections. She felt too old, too world weary, too totally and profoundly sad to deal with him and his petty requests and petulant whining today. Of course, as fate would have it, just before she was due to leave for the day, a text message appeared on her mobile.

NEED A PAIR OF KIDNEYS ASAP. - SHERLOCK

NOT TONIGHT. I'M LEAVING - MOLLY

I KNOW YOU'RE LEAVING. THAT"S WHY I SAID ASAP. SEE YOU AT BAKER ST - SHERLOCK

Molly heaved a great sign, and resigned herself to a night of aggravation in place of the warm bath and red wine she had been promising herself. She didn't like the way her life was turning out, and she knew that eventually she would have to do something to change its direction. But not today, she thought. Maybe today, the love of her life would actually see her, as she could always see him, and know what she needed. Maybe she would see kindness directed at her, for a change, in those beautiful blue-green eyes, and softness in his voice. Perhaps possible, but certainly not likely. But still, she headed off to Baker Street with high hopes.

Sherlock had barely grunted a hello as she walked into his flat, and put the cooler containing the human organs on the kitchen table where he was working. "Took you a bit long, didn't it?" he said, not even looking at her, which wasn't unusual.

Then he moved to examine the contents of the carrier, and evidently found them wanting.

"Are these the best available, Dr. Hooper? They are rather old and damaged…"

"Take 'em or leave 'em, Sherlock. That's all you're getting!"

Molly sounded a bit off. He looked at her briefly and saw the signs of stress, and something else, but he chose to look no further. "For the sake of my experiment, younger, undamaged tissue would have served better."

Molly thought of the children spread out on the slabs in her lab, chests stitched up like ragdolls, and tears sprung to her eyes once again. Sherlock Holmes was now looking at her intently. _He must see the tears_, she thought. _Perhaps he'll ask the reason for them. Maybe he'll wrap his arms around me and make me feel better. I've seen him hug Mrs. Hudson, and John. Even Lestrade after a particularly fortuitous outcome to a puzzling case. He's hugged Mary Watson, and he always hugs little Claire, the Watson's daughter. Just once, let him pull me close and allow me to cry into his chest._ But the detective just continued to study her. _Okay, okay. I'll settle for one of those pecks on the cheek, or a brush of lips on the forehead, you git. Anything at all. Just show me you can see me, Sherlock. Please! _But his next word proved to Molly that he didn't see her at all, he never had, and never would.

"Molly, it was hardly a reprimand which required tears. Get a grip, but try to do better next time!"

Something snapped in Molly Hooper, perhaps the last vestige of hope she held so dearly close to her heart. The tears dried immediately, she stood straight, and cleared her throat to speak.

"Why don't you like me, Sherlock?"

Sherlock looked taken aback, and perhaps slightly embarrassed, if that were possible. She thought perhaps he had been expecting her to ask why he didn't love her, as he certainly knew her feelings for him. But Molly had long since given up on such a notion. "Like" was the word she had used, and "like" was the word she meant!

"Pardon me?"

" 'Like me', Sherlock. And don't given me any of that crap about not doing sentiment. There are people you love, and people you like. You risked your life for three of those people. I see you interact with them all the time. You're arrogant, and bossy. Selfish. But you don't go out of your way to hurt them. You grant them some regard for their feelings. You would never bring Mrs. Hudson to tears, or cast aspersions at John's character or abilities. Even Greg…"

"Who?"

"Stop playing that game, Sherlock. It's getting rather old! Even Greg has earned some level of respect, and affection, even. Why not me? You know how I feel about you. You trust me. You seem to respect my work, at least at times. I'd do anything for you. I have done anything for you! Why don't you just like me?"

Sherlock Holmes looked down into her eyes, now tear free, but blazing with anger, and realized that the day he had always dreaded was upon him. He had broken her. He had driven her away. And despite the fact that he had always known it would happen, he now knew that he couldn't bring himself to let it happen. So he pulled her into his arms and kissed her with all the feeling that he had tried for so long to hide.

And she pulled away rather forcefully, and, equally forcefully, slapped his face. Twice.

"No, Sherlock! You don't get to manipulate me like that anymore. A few minutes ago, a simple hug or a kiss on the cheek would have worked just fine. But not anymore! You are not my friend, you never have been! I am nothing but an asset to you, one that you evidently will go to any length to hang on to. But you are no longer an asset to me, if you ever were!" Molly caught her breath, and continued more calmly. "So here's what going to happen from now on. You will file all necessary paperwork to gain access to any human tissue or lab facilities you may require. You will arrange for pick-up and delivery of anything you may need as I will no longer be doing so. I will no longer risk my job and my professional reputation to cater to your needs. My flat is no longer available as a bolthole. When I leave here today, do not expect me to return at any time in the future, for any reason." Molly then looked at him sadly, and murmured, "Goodbye, Sherlock," as she walked quickly to the door.

It was not long after this altercation that John and Mary Watson, and their daughter, greeted Mrs. Hudson downstairs, and, after a brief conversation, made their way up the staircase to the flat, only to find Sherlock Holmes sitting in his chair, hands beneath his chin.

"Looks like it was been pretty bad, Mary. He's in the bloody mind palace again!" John Watson rolled his eyes as he spoke to his wife.

"It must have been. How often does Molly resort to shouting?" Mary asked rhetorically, then glanced at the detective. "Why isn't he reacting to us, John?"

"I know of only two people you can rouse him from that damned state without a physical blow. Luckily, we have one of them with us!" Having said that, John gently placed his tiny daughter on her godfather's lap, who instantly can back to the real world.

"Neat trick," Mary said as she watched Sherlock gurgle at her child. "Who's the other?"

"Molly Hooper."

At the mention of her name, Sherlock looked a bit stricken, so much so that John noticed at once. "So, what goes on? Mrs. H. told us that she heard Molly shouting up here. I've been trying to get in touch with her, after the day she had at the morgue. Evidently she's still upset, huh? Three dead kids will do that to you,"

"Bloody hell, dead kids! I didn't know, John! I should have known, I should have seen it, deduced it. I knew something was wrong, but I ignored it. I ignored her."

"Yeah, it was really bad. Three siblings, one girl, two boys. Six and under. All beaten, starved, sexually abused. Then discarded because the parents didn't want to bring them along when they emigrated to Australia! One of the worst I've heard about. Even Lestrade was in tears."

Sherlock looked down at the child on his knee. If anything had ever happened to her, if anyone ever hurt her, he had no idea what he would do. Perhaps perform the traditional y-shaped incision in their chest and remove their still beating heart! And Molly, his Molly, faced this today. She was so much kinder than he, so much gentler, more empathetic. If he could feel this badly, how must she have felt. But she once again put his needs first, and acquiesced to his request, or rather, demand. He remembered that the tears had sprung to her eyes when he mentioned that "younger, undamaged" kidneys would have better served his purpose. He realized now that that had been the moment she had broken, and now he understood why. At that Sherlock Holmes had been overwhelmed with the idea that he had finally driven her away, and trying anything to selfishly hold on to her, had, once again, given in to his own needs, kissing her passionately, even though he could feel her resistance. All she had needed was a hug, or a kind word, or even a gentle kiss on the cheek. And, from her point of view, he had tried to manipulate her once again. The moment, completely misunderstood by both of them, was possibly the last moment that he would ever share with her!

"I think I've lost her, John." Sherlock said in such a sad tone that John sat on the couch and looked at his best friend closely, trying to understand what he was hearing.

"I knew you had her, mate. Everybody knows. I just didn't think you ever wanted her."

"Damn it, John! I hurt people. That's what I do! I don't mean to, but I'm not good at relationships, at sentiment. So I wind up hurting people."

"I've always recovered nicely, mate."

"Yes, but you're a combat veteran, a thrill seeker married to an ex-assassin! Greg is a copper. Mrs. Hudson is an ex-stripper who was formerly married to a man who ran a drug cartel and was executed for a double murder!"

John had noticed that he actually used DI Lestrade's correct given name. _Where the hell had that come from? _he thought , as Sherlock continued. "But Molly is so...Molly. She's not like me. Or you. Or anybody else, for that matter. I've spent all this time keeping a distance, trying to keep her from getting hurt, by others in general, and me in particular, that I never realized how I've hurt her even more than I ever feared. I think I've broken her, John." He smiled ruefully at his best friend, and unexpectedly asked, "How do I fix her? Can I fix her?"

"Look, mate, if you have now decided that you love her, that you want her, you can, indeed, fix this. Hell, you're talking to a man who is happily married to a hitwoman who shot my best friend! If we can get over that and move on, you can handle this. You just really have to want it. Do you want it, Sherlock? Really, really want it?"

"Yes, John. I've spent all this time trying to avoid hurting her, I can't just walk away now that I have!"

"Then talk to her. Now. Tonight. Don't let this fester any further. Don't let her convince herself that she can live without you. I'm not at all sure that she can. I know she doesn't want to! And if you truly feel this deeply about her, there's no reason why she should!"

John then gathered up his small family, and left the detective alone to make a decision which would affect his entire life. He only hoped he would make the correct one.

Molly had not returned to her flat immediately after leaving Baker Street, but had walked and walked until her feet ached almost as much as her heart. By the time she returned home, she was exhausted, both in body and spirit. A warm bath did much for her body, and she hoped that a bottle of red wine would do the same for her soul. She had taken an inventory of her life, and found it wanting. She was determined to do whatever was required to change this, and convinced herself that she had taken the proper first step at Baker Street. Unhappy as she was right now, she believed that she could be happy in the future. With this thought she crawled into a warm bed, determined to put the terrible day, and her previous futile hopes, behind her.

But Molly's sleep was disturbed by an uneasy feeling of eyes upon her, watching, observing. She lie there with her own eyes closed for several minutes, trying to shake the feeling, but her uneasiness was growing. When she finally had the courage to open them, she saw a familiar slender male figure perched on the chair in the corner of her bedroom gazing at her.

"Get the hell out, Sherlock. I thought I made myself perfectly clear…"

"I know, I know. But I need you to give me another chance."

"Another chance to what? Use me? Manipulate me?"

"Molly, I know I don't deserve it, but I need it. And you've always given me everything I need. Is one more time going to kill you?"

"Maybe, Sherlock. Maybe it will kill me." Molly looked away, sniffing a bit.

"Tell me what you need, Molly. What you really need."

Molly Hooper screwed up every bit of courage she could find, and looked him in the eye. "I need a life, Sherlock. I need a man who I love, and who loves me. I need a husband, and children, and a home. I need to go to bed at night with somebody's arms around me, and I need to wake up in the morning still wrapped up in those arms. I need normal, or as close as I can get, given the fact that I cut up bodies for a living! And that's just for starters!"

"Okay."

"What do you mean,'Okay'?"

"Okay. I can do that, if you'll give me the chance. I want to do that! You, naturally enough, assumed that I was trying to manipulate you when I kissed you. And I was, I suppose. I knew I had lost you, and I was trying desperately to change that. Can I change that?"

"That depends."

"On what?"

"Do you love me?"

Without hesitation, the detective looked directly into her eyes, and quietly said, "Yes."

Molly smiled, but the smile was still tinged with a bit of sadness. "Then could you please come to bed and hold me until I can get to sleep. I've had a really crappy day, Sherlock!"

Sherlock simply removed his shoes and slipped under the covers fully clothed. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, letting her head rest on her chest.

"You know, you could have saved yourself a lot of trouble, not to mention a lifetime commitment, if you'd just given me a hug when I needed it earlier this evening," Molly said sleepily.

'Given the more than acceptable outcome, I feel that I have to point out that I wouldn't change a thing, Dr. Hooper." And he gently kissed the top of her head and ran his fingers through her hair until her breathing signalled the fact that she was once again asleep. And when she awoke in the morning his arms were still around her.


End file.
